


your new good luck

by coricomile



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Lady Gaga (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She missed you," Steph says softly. She doesn't say I missed you, because even though she answers the phone to Steph Stump, she is and always will be Lady Gaga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your new good luck

The image is no bigger than a polaroid, black and white smudges with a date and a call number and letters Patrick will never understand, but it's the most amazing thing he's ever seen.

"Girl or boy?" Pete asks from across the table. 

"Girl," Patrick breathes out. He's got a cup of coffee in front of him that's going cold and a plate of eggs that will probably go uneaten. There are finger marks on the edge of the sonogram, tiny smears from where Patrick hasn't been able to keep himself from tracing the sides.

"Have any names?" Pete asks. He's got a bag of toys in the bag next to him, a welcome home gift from him to Bronx. Tour's over, maybe for good. Patrick can't find it in himself to care.

"Melody." Patrick waits for the barb, the jab at his taste- because of course it was his idea- but Pete just smiles softly and pries the image from his hands, looking down at it fondly.

"She's going to be beautiful," he says. Yes, Patrick thinks. She will be.

\---

Steph's in the living room when Patrick gets home, Queen on the radio as she scribbles in a notebook. Her hair- back to brown for now, until the pregnancy's over- is tied up into a loose, messy bun at the back of her head, stray pieces falling over her shoulders. 

She's wearing one of his old shirts. It's too big for him now, and it swamps her entirely. There's a knot tied at her hip, and Patrick can see her polka dotted boy-shorts underneath it. The notebook is balanced on her bare knees, teetering back and forth.

"You're staring again," Steph says, not looking up from her writing. There's a curl at the edge of her mouth that Patrick wants to kiss. So he does.

She's always been gorgeous. It's just- now, with the bump under her shirts growing with each day and her smile growing to match it, Patrick can't stop watching her, can't stop thinking _mine_ and _ours_ and _beautiful, wonderful, amazing_.

"How's Pete?" Steph asks, sinking into Patrick's side. The ring on her left hand sits heavy against Patrick's hip, tapping in beat to _Get Down, Make Love_. 

"Annoying," Patrick says fondly. "He's sending Bronx's old toys over."

"He does know we can afford to buy an entire chain Toys-R-Us stores, right?" Steph sets her notebook to the side and crawls her fingers over Patrick's arm, nails flashing silver under the overhead light. She's drawn elaborate stars on each thumb, the right one neater than the left. 

"That's what I said. He says it's tradition." Patrick hadn't argued with him; it was a gift, and Patrick was going to take it for what it was, no questions asked. When Patrick smooths a hand over Steph's belly, cupping the soft swell, the baby kicks.

There's something magical about it, about feeling the baby and _knowing_. Patrick slides to the floor, knees to the carpet, and presses his ear to Steph's belly. He likes to think he can hear the baby's heart beating. 

"She missed you," Steph says softly. She doesn't say _I missed you_ , because even though she answers the phone to Steph Stump, she is and always will be Lady Gaga, stubborn down to the core. It's part of why Patrick loves her.

Patrick slides his fingers under the hem of her shirt and traces the soft skin below it. It makes Steph sigh and lean back; she's an absolute sucker for tummy rubs, and Patrick could do it all day just for the small noises she doesn't realize she's making. 

Steph's legs fall down around him, thin and covered in soft, downy hair that she's refusing to shave on principal. When she tugs her shirt up over the swell of her stomach, Patrick lays a kiss over her belly button, smiling into her squirming.

"You're beautiful," he says against her taunt skin. He means it, oh he means it so much.

"I know," Steph says smugly. Patrick laughs. "You're not so bad yourself."

"I try," he says. He spreads his fingers out over her bump, his little fingers curling around her sides, and presses another kiss right above the waistband of her underwear.

There's something magic about her like this, something he'll never admit for fear of relentless teasing- from her _and_ Pete- that has him stuck in a constant state of awe. When he traces a path across the widest part of her stomach with his mouth, Steph moans shamelessly. A tiny hand or elbow or foot presses back against his lips.

"Would you call me weird if I said you never looked hotter?" Patrick asks. 

"Honey, I'd call you weird anyway." Steph's fingers comb through his hair, nails scritching across his scalp gently. She keeps him there, a ploy for a longer rub. "How about you have the next one, and I'll see how good it looks for myself." 

"I'll get right on that," he says dryly. Steph laughs.

"If you want to do something while you're down there, I wouldn't complain." She grins at him, wiggling her hips again. She's not wearing make-up; she's wide open and all his, as much as she'll ever belong to anyone. 

Patrick hums against her skin and skims his hands down over her sides, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. 

"Gladly." 

Patrick's going to enjoy her like this for as long as he can.


End file.
